“Ain’t much on talkin’,” my Pa always said. ‘Round here, running your mouth did nothing but get you in trouble with the law. Our line of work don’t mix with no government. You see, we’ve been makin’ bourbon whiskey for hundreds of years. My kin is Scotch-Irish, but in my eyes, the mountains raised me. I owe everything I’ve got to God and the Knobs of Kentucke. I know the best springs that trickle out rich limestone water and can walk in them woods under the cover of night better than my best bird dog.
Where I’m from, the only thing more important than whiskey is family and the Lord. It’s a way of life for us, and Skeeter Holler is where our whiskey calls home. There we have the finest still this side of Virginia. Hidden so deep in the hills, revenuers will tell you it burned down years ago. But Skeeter Holler is as alive as me, kickin’ out the purest bourbon whiskey the world’s ever seen. My family’s recipe is known in every holler in the state of Kentucke. We’ve been secretly supplin’ these dirt roads and trails with our bourbon for over 200 years.
Now, we’ve seen a lot of the local boys go legit and get right by the law and all that; takin’ their whiskey from the nip joints to the taverns. I think it’s time we got legal, take our bourbon from this forgotten corner of Kentucke and share it with the world. This here…is a small samplin’ of my life’s work; our family recipe passed down 7 generations and aged 13 years.